Something Worth Fighting For
by Littleforest
Summary: [Complete] One-Shot. What if, at the end of Harry's fourth year, Sirius returned to Hogwarts the day after he'd left to alert the old crowd? Harry is struggling with the aftermath of his escape from the graveyard, but his Godfather is there to help him through it.


**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. The lyrics belong to Mumford and Sons. This short one-shot belongs to me.**

**A/N-** Welcome to yet another 'What if...?' one-shot. This is the first story I've written that centres around Sirius and Harry's godfather/godson relationship and, although it's fairly short, I'm relatively happy with how it turned out. Just one little note - this story takes place the night after Harry is first admitted to the hospital wing at the end of Goblet of Fire, so in my world he spends an extra day there. I hope you like it!

* * *

**Something Worth Fighting For**

* * *

_So now I sleep,_  
_ Sleep the hours that I can't weep,_  
_ And all I knew was steeped in blackened holes,_  
_ Oh, I was lost._

**_'Below My Feet', by Mumford and Sons_**

* * *

_The night-time air in the graveyard was freezing cold, sending shivers all the way down his tense frame. Harry's limbs shook violently against the ropes that trapped him, even despite being bound so tightly to the gravestone that he could barely move. At this point Harry wasn't even sure if the tremors were simply because of the cold, or if they were also partly due to the fear that was almost overwhelming him. _

_Harry tried to take a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, but it was all too much and, despite his best efforts, his heart continued to beat loudly in his chest. His eyes were wide in terror as he looked around desperately, frantically searching for a way out, anything that would let him escape the circle of Death Eaters with his life intact. The ropes that bound him to the grave stone stung at his skin but still he fought against them with every ounce of strength he had left. _

_He didn't want to die..._

_The Death Eaters cackled as he struggled. Harry tried to look away but his eyes caught the unmoving body lying face-down in the grass not far from him. Cedric? His mind screamed at the boy to wake up but there was no answer, only deadened eyes staring back at him. Harry struggled against the binds with desperation, causing the pain in his leg to increase ten-fold and the ache in his body to double in intensity. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn't free himself, and the panic rising up in him made his chest tighten almost against his will. Then it got worse._

_Harry watched, with widened eyes, as Voldemort made his way slowly towards him. Red eyes met green. There was no way out, no escape._

_He was going to die..._

Harry jerked awake on his hospital bed, the scream dying on his lips as he tried desperately to gulp in oxygen. For a few moments his body was painfully tense, his mind still caught in the nightmare, and he could almost hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. It had seemed so real.

Then true horror dawned on as reality finally began to trickle in and his mind caught up to his current situation.

It _had_ been real. The fear, the pain, the torture - it had all really happened. Harry pulled in a shaky breath in an attempt to steady himself as panic threatened to overwhelm him. It was now his second night recovering in the hospital wing after the escape, but the fear had yet to leave him.

Of course, that might have had something to do with his physical state. Even discounting the mental scars that he had no doubt collected from the ordeal, Harry was still struggling with shaky and weak limbs, an effect of the multiple Cruciatus Curses no doubt, and every time he'd even glanced at the scar on his arm, Harry had had to screw his eyes shut to prevent the flashbacks that threatened to break through his tentative control. Madame Pomfrey had healed the mark where Wormtail had cut him, leaving only a thin, jagged scar, but the mental effects from the torture, Harry knew, would be a lot harder to heal.

_Don't think about it,_ Harry told himself furiously, glancing around the dark and deserted hospital wing in an attempt to distract himself from the memories that were threatening to overwhelm him. It was the only way he could cope. As long as he didn't think about it, he could almost pretend it had never happened.

After a long moment, finally Harry's heartbeat slowed down and evened out as the remnants of the nightmare began to leave him. The images, though, seemed permanently etched on his mind; Cedric's deadened eyes, blood being taken from his arm with a knife, pain, so much pain...

Harry shook himself violently and ran a shaky hand through his messy hair, but it didn't help. A weary sigh left his lips as he looked around the darkened room again, praying for some sort of distraction this time. He knew though, that there wouldn't be anyone there.

When he had first gone to sleep the night before, safely ensconced in a cocoon of dreamless sleep, Harry's hospital bed had been surrounded by his friends and surrogate family. When he'd woken up the next morning, however, the hospital wing had been empty of any life whatsoever. Harry had been reassured by Madame Pomfrey, when she'd come by to check on him, that they had only left reluctantly to get some sleep and food, but Harry had still felt a little let-down and, he admitted to himself, a little bit scared.

He had been far too alone in the Graveyard as well...

His best friends had returned less than an hour later, but instead of being relieved, Harry had found, to his own confusion and anger, that he'd just wanted to be left alone again. He hated the looks of pity that everyone had seemed to be struggling to hide, even now, and so Harry had simply refused to interact with them. He knew he still looked like hell - he had been tortured for Merlin's sake - but it just made him feel weak and useless to have people pity him for it. He didn't want sympathy; he just wanted to forget it had ever happened.

Madame Pomfrey, excellent nurse as she was, had apparently noticed his reluctance to be around other people, and had allowed him to stay in the hospital wing for an extra night, even though he had technically already been healed. Ron and Hermione had tried to visit numerous times, but Harry almost always pretended he was asleep. He was grateful for their support, and he always would be, but the simple fact was that Harry just felt...different now.

And he hated it.

It was as if something had changed, somewhere between leaving Hogwarts by Portkey and returning, much more traumatised than before. He'd lost something, some part of himself, and he wasn't sure how to get it back. Harry had tried to act normally around his friends, even as he lay still recovering in his hospital bed, but it hadn't taken long for it to became far too exhausting, and Harry had just given up after a while. In the end, Harry had become snappy and downright rude, all but pushing his friends away. They'd left him pretty much alone after that.

Harry knew that he should have regretted his behaviour, or at least have felt guilty about the way he was treating his friends, but instead Harry found himself grateful for the solitude. It might have been lonely, but he just couldn't bring himself to care much anymore. Because at the end of the day, Harry just couldn't get it out of his head that Cedric wouldn't ever be able to hang out with his friends ever again...

Harry clenched his eyes shut as the memories once again forced themselves onto the front of his mind. The sheets he lay in were covered in sweat from his nightmare, but he barely even noticed. The darkness of the room felt oppressive in a way it hadn't ever been before, and for the first time since he'd escaped Voldemort's grasp, Harry wished he hadn't pushed all his friends away. It was scary and frightening, and the shadows in the Hospital Wing were playing on the fear in his mind. He felt weak for letting it get to him, but as he clenched his fists on the sheets of his bed, Harry couldn't help but wish he wasn't quite so alone.

For the past day or so, apart from sporadically sleeping, Harry had been stuck in the bed with nothing much to do except think. During the first day of his stay in the Hospital Wing, he'd at least had his friends to take his mind off everything but once he'd pushed them away, Harry had been left with nothing but his thoughts. And thinking was exactly what he didn't want to do right now.

Harry shakily lay back down, pulling the thin sheet up to his chin. He felt weak, and as much as he wanted to leave the hospital wing, another part of him wanted to hide here and never face the world. He didn't want to see the accusing looks that he knew would be on everyone's faces. Murderer, they would say behind his back.

Murderer...

Harry snapped his eyes shut tightly, desperately trying to block out the voice in his head that was taunting him and haunting him in equal measures. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't be strong when he felt like he'd already been broken into a million irreparable pieces. He didn't know what to think anymore, how to feel, how to act. He didn't know who he was anymore.

Harry clenched his fists tightly under the covers, but it did nothing to stop the tremors that still ravaged his body. He just wanted it to go away. He just wanted it to end...

"Harry?"

Harry jerked slightly at the voice, wiping quickly at his eyes to get rid of the few tears that had been able to escape.

"Harry, are you okay?"

The voice finally registered, and Harry snapped his head around to look at the newcomer, confusion clear on his face despite the distress still there. Harry squinted in the darkness, not quite believing the man was actually standing there. It didn't make sense...

"Sirius?" he asked hoarsely, brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you of course," Sirius replied lightly, although even in the darkness, Harry could see the concern coming from the man. "How're you doing, kiddo?"

"I'm fine," Harry muttered quickly.

Sirius didn't say anything in reply, but it was clear by the look on his face that his godfather didn't believe him. Harry didn't blame him for that either; he knew he looked terrible. Harry allowed his gaze to drop as shamed filled him as if coming from his very soul. He didn't want Sirius to see him like this. He didn't want the man to think he was weak, even though all he wanted to do at the moment was curl up under the covers and never come out.

"You look a little better," Sirius said with a slightly forced smile, waving his wand to give them more light. "Madame Pomfrey does good work."

"What are you doing here, Sirius?" interrupted Harry quietly, ignoring his godfather's words altogether. "Aren't you supposed to be rounding up the Order or something?"

Harry looked away from Sirius, hating himself for the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. Why did the man have to come tonight...?

"Moony's sorting that out for now," Sirius replied with a shrug, walking over to take a seat next to Harry's bed. The man sighed lightly as he sat down, resting his hand on Harry's arm with a soft pat. Harry had to make a special effort to stop himself from instinctively pulling away; he was certain that Sirius would be able to feel the tremors in his limbs but he didn't want the man to think he was weak.

"Dumbledore doesn't know you're here, does he?" Harry asked quietly, desperate to distract himself from his worries.

Sirius shrugged, a light smile touching his face for the first time. "I'm a Marauder, Harry. I don't need permission to get into Hogwarts."

Harry didn't smile. "But what about Voldemort?"

"What do you mean, kiddo?" Sirius asked, the smile dropping from his face.

"He's out there," Harry said, looking around desperately as if Voldemort was simply waiting around the corner. "We need to act quickly. We can't afford to waste time - "

"Harry," Sirius interrupted softly. "Thanks to you, we _are_ acting quickly."

"But..."

"There's only so much we can do," Sirius said with a frown. "Right now, you're more important."

"No I'm not," Harry muttered quietly, fidgeting with a loose thread on his sheets in an attempt to avoid looking Sirius in the eye.

"How can you say that, Harry?"

"It's true," Harry murmured. "It's all my fault that Voldemort's back – "

"No, Harry!"

"Sirius – "

"No," Sirius interrupted with a shake of his head. "I won't let you believe that. It wasn't your fault!"

"But if I'd been stronger, if I'd known more…"

"You're fourteen years old, Harry," Sirius said almost desperately. "Something terrible happened to you, but you handled it like someone much older. It's incredible that you survived at all."

"Dumbledore said something like that," Harry muttered under his breath, but Sirius heard him.

"It must be true then," Sirius said with a smile, his eyes sparkling with intensity. "I'm proud of you, Harry. Your parents would be proud as well, I'm sure of it."

Harry wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that there was nothing he could have done to save Cedric, nothing he could have done to stop Wormtail taking his blood and resurrecting Voldemort. But some small part of Harry couldn't quite let go of the idea that there must have been _something _he could have done. He was just too weak…

"Harry," Sirius began gently, interrupting Harry's desperate thoughts. "It wasn't your fault."

"I asked Cedric to take the cup with me," Harry whispered, his eyes full of shame.

"Oh, Harry..."

"So you see, it was my fault," Harry continued dully. "If I hadn't told him to take the cup with me, Cedric would never have even been there."

They were quiet for a moment as Sirius seemed to digest Harry's words. Harry, for his part, was trying desperately to hold back the tears that were trying to claw their way out of him.

"Do you blame Cedric, Harry?" Sirius asked suddenly.

"What? No!"

"But he chose to take the cup," Sirius pointed out. "I doubt, no matter how convincing you were, that you could have forced Cedric to take it."

"That's not the point," Harry said, his eyes rising tentatively.

"It's exactly the point, Harry," Sirius said softly. "You didn't kill Cedric, Harry. It was a terrible thing, but it wasn't your fault."

Harry's mind whirred, overloaded with what Sirius was trying to get him to understand.

"It'll take some time for you to realise, Harry," Sirius continued softly. "But I promise you, I won't stop until you understand that this is not your fault."

"You won't leave me?" Harry asked, hating himself for how desperate he sounded.

"Never Harry," Sirius said firmly. "Not even Hogwarts' wards can stop me."

Harry snorted, swiping his hand across his eyes to wipe at the few tears that had escaped. It was strange, he realised, but he felt a little less…toxic now. Sirius didn't pity him, that much was clear, but he didn't blame him either. No one could ever really understand what he had been through, but with Sirius, that didn't matter. All that mattered was that Sirius was by his side.

He hadn't left him.

"Can you stay tonight?" Harry asked quietly, hating himself for showing weakness, but unable to stop himself. "I don't want to be alone."

"Of course, Harry," Sirius replied, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "I'll always be there for you. Always."

Harry nodded, too choked up to say anything. For someone who had spent all their childhood with no adult to count on, it was a strange feeling for Harry to have someone like Sirius now. Sirius was an odd mix of father and brother to Harry; he was family to the teenager, and Harry honestly didn't know what he would do without his Godfather. He didn't know what was coming now that Voldemort had returned, but so long as he had Sirius by his side, he could almost believe he could handle it.

_I'll always be there for you._

Harry glanced at Sirius as the man tried to settle more comfortably into the chair by Harry's bedside. Danger was coming, that much was clear, but Harry found himself hoping desperately that Sirius could keep that promise. Harry vowed, as he lay in his hospital bed, that he would do everything to keep Sirius safe as well. He would give everything to keep his Godfather by his side. He would fight to the death, he would give every last breath his body had to offer.

Harry found strength surge through him, overtaking that weakness that had almost overwhelmed him since his return from the graveyard. He wasn't okay, not by any stretch of the imagination, but for the first time since he'd returned to Hogwarts, Harry actually believed that maybe one day he _c__ould_ be okay.

So long as he had Sirius, so long as he had his godfather, Harry felt as if he could deal with anything.

* * *

**A/N -** So what do you think? It's a bit angsty, but I tried to include a little bit of a fluffy, optimistic ending. It always bothered me that Harry was pretty much forced to deal with the trauma on his own at the end of Goblet of Fire, and this was just my little attempt to right that wrong. I hope you like it! I'd really love to hear from you, but if not, thanks for reading!


End file.
